


Don't Hesitate

by TiyeTiye



Series: Ragnar and Lagertha [3]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bad Pickup Lines, Bromance, Bumbling Idiots, F/M, Heart to Hearts, Ladykillers, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Vikings, awkward teenage flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 13:34:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12233883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiyeTiye/pseuds/TiyeTiye
Summary: After the journey back to Kattegat, teenage Ragnar Lothbrok has only a few days to figure out his feelings for Lagertha, the beautiful shield maiden who saved his life.





	Don't Hesitate

It is a five day sail back to Kattegat. There’s not much to do once the ship is underway so Ragnar does his best to keep his mind occupied. He spends a lot of time talking with Floki, who wheedles the story of his near-death experience and his Valkyrie out of him. He plays a few rounds of dice with Rollo and some of the older boys, where he loses most of the coins that he took off the dead Slav. He takes his turn at the oars when the wind drops and manages to escape without getting any blisters that are too nasty. He listens to his father and the older men talk about sailing and navigation, and hears a rumor about a magic stone that can let a man see the sun on even the cloudiest of days. 

He also spends a lot of time trying not to think about Lagertha. 

He is only mildly successful. 

Because she’s right. The fleet will travel together back to Kattegat, where several ships, including the one she’s on, will take two or three days for their crews to resupply and feast with the other returning warriors before sailing farther on to their own homes. Ragnar might never see her again. It’s pointless for him to get attached.

And yet….

He can see the ship that she’s on as the fleet skims across the ocean. Ragnar often catches himself staring over the rail, feeling that same tingling _zing_ down his spine whenever he catches sight of her golden hair moving about the deck. He tries to shake off the thought of her, like a wet dog coming in from the rain, but one time he looks up and he’s sure that that’s her at the rail of the other ship, staring back at him. Then the bow of Ragnar’s ship kicks up a spray of water, and by the time it clears she’s moved away, but by the gods, it was her. She was there. 

———————————————————————————————————————————

The fleet makes it safely back to Kattegat, and the next day Ragnar is in the small marketplace watching the blacksmith put the finishing touches on a new sword. It’s a fine weapon, with a bright silver blade and a dark bronze pommel, and Ragnar feels a painful twinge in his heart while he watches the smith sharpen its edges. He bounces his small pouch of coins in his hand and does the math again, but even with all of his money and the silver ring with the red stone he took off the Slav that tried to kill him he still doesn’t have enough. And it was _such a good sword -_ much better than the one he now carried. It actually looked a lot like Lagertha’s…

Ragnar’s mind is beginning to wander to thoughts of ocean-blue eyes and sunlight gold hair again when a high, laughing voice calls out and snaps him back into the present. 

“Ragnar! There you are!” the voice says, and its his best friend Floki, coming towards him through the crowd with his arm wrapped around a buxom brunette. “Good to be home, isn’t it?” He claps Ragnar on the back and gestures to his companion, “Have you two met?” When they each shake their heads Floki pulls the girl towards him, wrapping both arms around her waist and giving her a kiss on her temple, looking back up at Ragnar as she giggles. “Ragnar, this starry-eyed, _enchanting creature_ whose beauty could rival _Freyja herself_ is Dagmar Halsteinsdottír, who I was telling you about on the voyage home. She’s a friend of Lagertha’s.” At the mention of his Valkyrie’s name, Ragnar’s hands unconsciously move to straighten his tunic and smooth down his hair, but neither of them seem to notice - they’re far too wrapped up in each other. Floki tips Dagmar’s face up to look into her eyes, and runs a finger down the curve of her cheek while she gazes up at him, spellbound. “Are you sure you are not really Loki’s daughter?” he asks her. “How else could the stars have been stolen from the night sky to find a home in your eyes?” Dagmar blushes a bright red and giggles again at the skinny boy’s antics. Floki finally tears his gaze away from her and looks back up at Ragnar. “Dagmar, my darling, this is Ragnar Lothbrok, Rollo’s younger brother, and my best friend in the world.” 

“You are Ragnar Lothbrok?” she says with a knowing look on her face. “Oh yes, Lagertha has told me _all about_ you!”

The tingling feeling has come back to dance across his shoulders and Ragnar can’t fight the grin that splits his face. “Really? What did she say about me?” 

“She said that she saved your life during the raid, but then to thank her you knocked her down and tried to steal her sword.” 

“Wha— That’s—That’s not even _close_ to what happened!” 

“It isn’t?”

“Of course not!”

Dagmar just arches an eyebrow and shrugs as if to say “ _Oh sure,_ ** _of course it isn’t._** _”_ Ignoring Ragnar’s continued outraged sputtering, she glances up at the sun then turns to Floki. 

“I have to go,” she says, running her hands up and down his chest. “I promised I would help repair one of our sails before the journey home. Will I see you later at the feast?” she asks, tipping her face up for a kiss. 

Floki nods and bends down, dropping his voice into his best growl, trailing his lips along hers as he speaks. “Of course, my darling. With lips like yours, how could I ever leave you alone? You were made to be kissed, and often, and by someone who _knows how_.” He gives her a long, lingering kiss, and smiles down at her when she eventually pulls herself out of his arms. He gives her a playful swat on the rump when she turns to go and Ragnar, still fuming, sees her blush again and hears her giggle as she winds her way off through the marketplace. 

“Hey at— at least I gave it back!” he shouts after her. “I gave her the sword back!” 

Dagmar flaps her hand above her head as she goes, shooing his comments away, and Ragnar gives an angry huff as she disappears around a corner. 

“I gave it _back_ ,” he mutters. 

“Of course you did Ragnar.” Floki agrees. 

“It _was_ a good sword though.” 

“So you said.”

“But I _did_ give it back. Took me _hours_ to track her down.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Pretty sure she still hates me though.” 

Floki giggles and claps him on the shoulder. “You’d be surprised Ragnar. Who but the gods knows what dwells in the hearts of women?”

Ragnar cocks an eyebrow at that. “Really? You seem to have figured it out pretty wellwith _Dagmar_.”

Floki shrugs. “Ah, no - we’re just having fun. Besides, she’s sailing home tomorrow. Who knows when I’ll ever see her again? Probably not until next summer. Maybe not even then.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” 

“If the gods will it, I will see her again. And if not, I’ll have the memories.”

“You could always ask her to stay.”

“Why?” 

“Ask her to marry you?”

Floki laughs out loud at that one, doubling over in a fit of giggles. “Oh no! No, no, no! We could _never_ ….”

Ragnar shifts uncomfortably. “Well, what if it was someone different?” 

“Like _who_?” Floki chokes out. 

“Like Helga?”

Floki straightens up at that, suddenly uncomfortable. “Helga is different.” 

“Why?” 

Floki is beginning to turn a bit red. “She’s not just some girl you have fun with! She’s too good for me. She’d never want some boatbuilder’s son. She’s kind and she’s smart and she’s good and a skald really needs to write a poem about her because the _curves of her lips_ need to be remembered _forever_ ….” Floki trails off and gives himself a little shake. “No. Helga deserves someone better.” 

“Did she tell you that?”

Floki doesn’t answer, just crosses his arms and glares at Ivar, refusing to speak any more about it. Ragnar glares back at him for a moment before he breaks. 

“Oh, by the gods Floki! Just talk to her already!” 

“Fine! I will! Once you go talk to Lagertha!”

“But _she’s sailing home tomorrow._ Just like you said about Dagmar!”

“You should still talk to her, idiot! You were mooning over her the entire sail home! Kept staring over the rail like a dreamy girl!”

“Oh shut up!” Ragnar shouts, knowing Floki is right. He wasn’t nearly as careful as he thought he’d been. “Fine, I’ll talk to her!” 

“Talk to who?” asks a soft voice from behind him. 

Ragnar whirls around, and there she is, Lagertha, his Valkyrie, and he feels a surge of panic plummet into his stomach at the sight of her. Where did she come from?! _How long had she been standing there?!_ **_How much did she hear!?_**

Ragnar stands gaping at her long enough for Lagertha to look like she’s beginning to regret asking, but luckily Floki comes straight to his rescue. 

“Helga! Helga Ingvarsdottír. She’s a girl…from here in Kattegat. Ragnar’s said he’ll go talk to her tonight at the feast…for…for me.”

“Yep!” Ragnar quickly agrees. 

“Why don’t you just talk to her yourself?” Lagertha asks, slowly looking between the two of them.

“Oh because of…because of lots of reasons.” says Floki, stepping up next to Ragnar. “But my friend Ragnar here has promised to help, because he’s a good man like that, and I’m Floki Vidarsson by the way.” He extends a hand for her to shake, which she does, giving Ragnar a look that said _“Wow, some friend you’ve got here…”_

“Lagertha Rangvaldsdottír,” she says to Floki, and Ragnar feels a momentary flash of irritation at the fact that Floki was just _given_ her _full name —_ **_for free_** _,_ but it’s interrupted by Floki’s giggle. 

“Ah, so you are the famous Lagertha? The one who fought so bravely in the last raid? The one who battled fiercer than the Valkyries and saved Ragnar’s life?” he says, elbowing Ragnar in the ribs until he gets shoved away. 

Lagertha lets slip a tiny smile as she looks between the two of them. “Yes, that was me.” 

Floki puts a hand on her narrow shoulder, and Ragnar is astonished that she just _lets him._ Floki’s tone becomes uncharacteristically formal as he continues, looking down into her eyes. “Then thank you, Lagertha Rangvaldsdottír, for the life of my best friend. I owe you for that one. If you ever have need of anything,” he says, hand on his heart, “just call on Floki the boat-builder’s son, and what’s mine is yours.” 

Lagertha seems just as flustered as Ragnar by this strange shift in tone, turning to look at him with wide, vaguely panicked blue eyes, and he comes to her rescue this time. “Are you…are you coming to the feast tonight? Before you sail home?” he asks, knocking Floki’s hand away from her, and the grateful little smile she gives him makes his heart sing. 

“Yes, I will be there,” she says. 

“Great…good!” Ragnar says, trying not to sound too excited. “Maybe I’ll see you there?” 

“As long as you keep your eyes open,” she says, a corner of her mouth quirking up. 

“Alright. Good. Tonight then,” he says. The tingling feeling is back, dancing across his shoulders and chest, and he can’t help but let slip a nervous little laugh. He flails his arm out to the side, eyes still locked with hers, until he connects with Floki’s shoulder and pulls him to him. “We should go,” Ragnar says, tearing himself away from her gaze. “Let you…let you get back to your…your day.” 

“Oh…alright,” Lagertha says. Ragnar thinks that her face seems to fall, but he knows that if he sticks around too much longer, he’ll say something so stupid she’ll never speak to him again. Instead, he plays it safe and steps back. 

“See you tonight?” he asks, drawing Floki away with him. 

“See you tonight.” Her smile comes back, and Ragnar grins back at her before he turns away. 

“What was _that_?”Floki blurts out as they walk away through the marketplace. _“Let you get back to your day?”_

“Shut up.”

———————————————————————————————————————————

That night, the great hall of Kattegat is packed with people. It takes Ragnar forever to find Floki in the crush of people moving about inside. He finally spots his lanky friend leaning against a wall by himself, drinking deeply from a cup of ale, one of his cheeks a faint scarlet color. 

Ragnar sidles up next to him, taking his own cup of ale from a passing thrall. 

“Dagmar?” he asks. 

“Dagmar.” Floki mutters into his cup, staring across the room. 

“What happened?”

“Tell you later,” Floki says, but then his face brightens a bit. “Seen Lagertha yet?” he asks, glancing up at Ragnar, who nervously pulls at the hem of his tunic and glances around the room. 

“No, why? Have you? Is she here?”

Floki giggles into his cup. “Oh yes, she’s here. But don’t worry, I won’t spoil anything for you.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

Floki doesn’t answer and when Ragnar looks back at him he sees why. Floki is frozen in place, gazing across the room at a short, round-faced girl with long golden hair who’s just come into the hall. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, drains his cup in one long pull, and slams it down onto the table next to them. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he looks over at Ragnar, mouth turned up in a smile.

“Wish me luck?” 

“Good luck, my friend,” Ragnar says, laying a hand on his shoulder and then shoving his friend across the hall. “Go get her!”

Floki looks back at him and giggles, then winds his way across the floor to stand next to Helga. He takes fresh cups of ale from a passing thrall, and Ragnar notices that the girl’s face lights up like the summer sun as Floki passes one to her. 

“Is that her?” a soft voice asks from somewhere near his shoulder. 

Ragnar turns and for a moment he forgets how to breathe - the tingling feeling has come back and now it’s overtaken his whole body. It’s Lagertha, but also it’s _not_ Lagertha _._ Gone is the leather armor and trousers, gone is the wild, messily braided hair, gone is the Valkyrie. Now she’s a goddess wearing a dress the same ocean-blue as her eyes, with a strand of colored stones around her neck, and her hair a golden waterfall combed over her shoulders. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and he has no idea how to tell her. 

“Is that her?” Lagertha tries again. “Helga? The one you and Floki were talking about?” 

“What? Oh..yes! That’s her. That’s Helga.”

Lagertha unleashes the brightest smile Ragnar has ever seen as she watches Floki lean down to whisper something in Helga’s ear. 

“Your talk must have worked then?”

“My talk?”

“You said you were going to talk to Helga for him? It must have worked.”

“Right…yes! It worked quite well. I hardly had to do anything…Did you want to sit?” he gestures to the half-full table next them. Lagertha nods and takes a seat on the bench while Ragnar steels himself and sits next to her. He’s close enough to feel the warmth of her arm and leg but is terrified of actually touching her. He occupies himself by pouring them both a cup of ale and congratulates himself on the fact that his hands are  _not_ shaking as he passes one to her. They sit together in silence for awhile, stealing glances at each one another, until the silence begins to feel awkward and Ragnar thinks he ought to do something to fill it. 

“So _Lagertha Rangvaldsdottír_ ,” he says, drawing her name out and savoring the way it feels on his tongue. “Who really taught you to fight like that? You have to tell me!” 

Lagertha sighs, shuts her eyes, and gives her head a slight shake at the way he says her name, but she looks relieved all the same at having something safe to talk about. “My father taught me. He and my mother had no sons, so he taught me to fight instead.”

“And he gave you his sword?”

“And he gave me his sword,” she smiles at him and gently elbows him in the arm, her own way of thanking him for giving it back. Ragnar, emboldened by the small touch, soldiers on. 

“Why didn’t he come with us on the raid then? Someone skilled enough to teach you to fight like that should have been there!” 

Lagertha shakes her head and holds up her right hand, wiggling her fingers. “He can’t. Lost too many of these during a raid when I was a child. He can’t grip a sword or an axe anymore. So now, I go in his place.” 

“And now you are a famous shield maiden.” 

She turns the full force of her smile on him now, blue eyes crinkled up with happiness, and Ragnar feels his heart jump. 

“Not yet, but maybe someday.” 

“Will you come raiding again next year?”

“Why do you ask Ragnar Lothbrok? Are you going to need me to save your life again?” 

Ragnar laughs at that one, and she joins him. The clear sound of her laugh loosens something in his gut and Ragnar realizes how silly he’s been acting. Because it’s easy, sitting here, talking to her like this. It feels like he’s known her his whole life, and he thinks that he could sit at that table and just talk to her until the day he dies. 

So there they stay, sitting and talking, for the rest of the feast. Ragnar makes her laugh several more times and each time he does it sends the tingling feeling zooming up and down his spine. The moon rises higher and soon people begin to trickle away bit by bit. Ragnar sees Floki walk out holding Helga’s hand and gives them a little wave as they go. Eventually, Dagmar appears and tells Lagertha that it’s time for them to leave. They have an early tide to catch in the morning. 

“Come on Lagertha, we need to go,” she says, giving Ragnar a look of veiled distaste. 

“Oh no, do you have to go already?” Ragnar says, but Lagertha waves her friend away. 

“Wait for me outside, alright? I’ll be just a few moments more.” 

Dagmar huffs, but does as Lagertha asks, leaving the two of them alone. Now that the feast is so obviously coming to an end, Ragnar isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. 

“Well, it was good talking with you Ragnar,” Lagertha says quietly, looking up at him through her lashes. 

“You too… Lagertha,” Ragnar fumbles out. 

She stays frozen in place on the bench next to him for a long moment, but he doesn’t know what else to do, so eventually she stands up and makes to leave. It’s the last glimpse of her eyes and the sad little smile she gives him that spurs Ragnar into action. 

“Wait!” he calls after her. 

She turns back to him, and he’s already leapt up off the bench, striding across the floor to take her hands in his. Her fingers are warm and some small part of him registers that she makes no effort to pull away. 

“Take this,” he says, pressing the silver ring with the red stone into her palm.

“What is this for?” she asks, astonished.

“For my life. As a proper thank-you. I took it off the Slav you saved me from, so I suppose by rights it does belong to you.” 

Lagertha smiles and slides the ring onto her thumb. It fits perfectly. 

“And take this too,” Ragnar says, and before he can talk himself out of it, he leans forward and presses his lips to hers. 

Her lips are soft and she tastes faintly of mint and ale, but he’s caught her totally off-guard, and when he pulls back her eyes are round and astonished. 

“What was _that_ for?” she says breathlessly. 

Ragnar smiles down at her, all of his earlier fear and doubt gone.“Because, whatever our hearts are made of…. I feel like yours and mine are the same. Because you’re leaving tomorrow. Because you’re the one who told me not to hesitate.” 

Lagertha looks up at him and gives a little shuddering laugh that he might call a _giggle_ , but before she can answer him Dagmar is calling out to her from the door of the hall.

“I—I have to go,” she says, and whirls away.

————————————————————————————————————————————

The next morning, the weather is bright and bordering on cold. Ragnar is standing at the docks, watching the last of the ships take on the last of their crews and wondering if he might have ruined everything last night. He still hasn’t seen Lagertha this morning, and is stewing in the idea that his kiss had been so horrible that she’s done something to slip past him down the docks to avoid talking to him any more. Until a flash of bright gold catches his eye and he sees his Valkyrie again. 

She’s dressed back in her trousers and leather armor, with a warm cloak over the top to protect against the cold, but she’s definitely smiling as she comes towards him, and she’s still wearing his ring. 

“Did you come to see me off Ragnar?” she asks. Ragnar thinks he might be blushing but he shrugs. 

“I came to see off the rest of the fleet. It just happens to include you.” 

Lagertha laughs shyly, scuffing the planks of the dock with her boot. “You’re funny when you want to be. When you’re not embarrassing yourself on raids.” 

“Oh yes?” Ragnar says, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Oh yes.” 

A horn sounds to call the last of the sailors to their places on the departing ships. Lagertha looks up at Ragnar, and he sees her nod her head ever so slightly, as though she’s come to a decision. She steps forward, reaches up, slides her fingers around the back of his neck, and pulls him down for a kiss, her other hand gently cupping the side of his face. It lasts only a moment, but that’s all it takes for Ragnar to memorize the smell of her hair, the feel of her skin, and the taste of her lips. She pulls away and gives him one last brilliant smile. 

“See you next year Ragnar.” 


End file.
